


crossed off grace, replaced with never

by the_ragnarok



Series: Thimble [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Party Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fifth shot, Pete crows, “Dare!” He all but throws himself in Patrick’s lap. “I dare you to accept your very first kiss.” (Or: Never play party games with Pete Wentz.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	crossed off grace, replaced with never

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely melusina!

Party games and Pete Wentz are a terrible combination. This is a truth Patrick has known practically since meeting the guy.

Never-Have-I-Ever, though, is kind of fun. Patrick can look around the room and take his pick of things to say: Never got a tattoo, never got pierced, never smoked weed, never smoked _period_ , never got blackout drunk.

“Keep this up and you never will be,” Joe mutters mutinously around his fourth shot of tequila. After the fifth shot, you have to do a dare. House rules, Pete called it, although this isn’t his house - Patrick’s not sure who the hosts actually are. It’s possible that people Pete knows just swarmed the place, like hornets building a nest.

Joe’s evidently not looking forward to the dare. Patrick doesn’t blame him: Pete’s in fine form tonight, grinning non-stop and itching for someone to embarrass. Nice to think that for once it won’t be Patrick, whose own first shot of tequila is sitting next to him, untouched.

“Never have I ever kissed a guy,” Joe says when it’s his turn.

Pete downs his shot cheerfully. He already had enough that Patrick’s lost count, and been thus far dared to: take some clothes off (his shirt and his shoes), pretend to hit on a hat stand (and proceed to pretend to make out with it, because nobody’s better at making Pete Wentz look ridiculous than Pete Wentz), and bend over and let anybody who wanted spank him.

Patrick sat that one out, terrified that someone will notice how his pants tented up at just the _thought_. God, being a teenager is embarrassing.

The girl next to Joe also downs her shot, gives Joe a dirty look and counters with, “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

Pretty much the entire circle takes a drink at that, even the girls. There’s one in particular with her hair in a loose pony tail and shiny-wet lips who laughs ruefully just before she drinks, and Patrick’s really anxious to know her name and maybe ask her if she likes Bowie.

He’s so lost in that train of thought that he nearly misses Pete’s eyes boring into him. Knowing when you’re in Pete’s crosshairs is a vital survival skill, though, so Patrick does realize. He curls up a little, defensive, and asks Pete, “What?”

“You still haven’t taken a shot.” That tone, that silky-smooth sweet tone, is as good as a fire alarm coming from Pete.

Patrick hunches up tighter, glumly realizing that it’s probably futile as it is. “No.”

Pete’s smile spreads across his face like wildfire. “Is that so.”

“Never have I ever broke edge,” Andy says, bored and loud, swishing the hot sauce he has in the shot glass instead of booze. Even Patrick has to take a drink at that.

That seems to give Pete an idea, though, since after a few more statements that Patrick ignores (”Never have I ever been sky diving,” honestly? Does that dude even know how the game works?) someone clears his throat and says, obviously confused, “Never have I ever played the trombone.”

Patrick drinks up. Mutters, “Shut your face,” at Joe who is drunk enough to find the word ‘trombone’ hilarious.

Then it’s three more in a row - “Never have I ever driven a car,” from a girl who’s apparently legally blind, “Never have I ever learned an instrument,” and “Never have I ever had a dick,” (to which someone responds, “What about your ex?” and gets flipped off). It might seem like a coincidence, if you don’t notice Pete frantically going around the circle and whispering in each person’s ear.

After the fifth shot, Pete crows, “Dare!” He all but throws himself in Patrick’s lap. “I dare you to accept your very first kiss.”

Times like this Patrick really hates how pale he is, how easily he blushes. “Any volunteers?” he says, looking pointedly at the lack of hands raised. “Didn’t think so.”

“Actually,” one girl says thoughtfully.

Pete doesn’t let her finish, running right over her words with, “I’ll do it. C’mon, Stumph, what are friends for?” He pulls Patrick up and hustles him away from the circle.

Patrick’s sense of dread grows proportionally to their distance from other people, spiking when Pete guides him past the bedrooms (all of which have their doors shut, with a cheerful array of socks hanging off their knobs) to a ladder leading to the roof. “Where are we going?” Patrick says, halting.

Pete turns around. He’s got Patrick’s hand in his, which Patrick hasn’t paid much attention to till now. Pete’s palm is kind of sweaty, grip a little tight, the way it always is. The way he looks at Patrick isn’t the jokey leer he puts on before smacking a wet kiss to Patrick’s cheek, but it’s not his overly-serious, prelude-to-a-prank look either.

Instead Pete’s smile is brittle at the edges and tender in the middle, and he says, “I thought you’d prefer not to have an audience.”

Patrick knows what his line is, has _I’d prefer not to do this at all_ resting ready on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t like telling direct lies. He just nods and ducks his head and follows Pete up to the roof.

It’s a warm summer night but the roof is windy as fuck, making Patrick wish he brought his coat. Pete doesn’t look cold, running on excitement the way he does, and he clings close to Patrick in a way designed to make Patrick swear and threaten to chuck him off the edge. Pete’s warm, though, so Patrick clings back.

Pete sort of sags against him. “I wanted to show you the stars,” he says, plaintive.

There’s a layer of clouds above them and probably it’ll start raining soon. “I know what the stars look like,” Patrick says. One suburban sky probably is pretty much like another, in his opinion. He clumsily pets Pete's shoulder.

Pete draws back. “How about I show you something you don’t know,” and then his mouth’s on Patrick’s.

If Patrick thought about this at all— okay, in the interest of honesty he did, and figured that it would be like Pete’s joking kisses with a lot of spit and enthusiasm, more like a puppy kiss than a romantic kiss. Or maybe like the way Pete kissed other people, sloppy, with the occasional glimpse of tongue escaping like the kiss outgrew their mouths, a sight that always had Patrick uncomfortable and aroused and a little grossed out.

This is gentle, though, soft. Dry. Just skin touching skin, close enough to smell Pete’s aftershave and the product he puts in his hair and the salty-muskiness of skin. Patrick’s lips part without even thinking and Pete hums against him but doesn’t treat it like an invitation, only opening his own mouth a little and moving it against Patrick’s, slow like molasses.

Patrick grabs Pete’s shirt, blindingly holding on because it feels like he might just fall off this roof if he’s not careful, overwhelmed. Pete’s furnace-hot against him, thighs angled away so Patrick can’t tell if Pete’s hard and Pete can’t feel that Patrick is. Pete’s got one palm resting on the small of Patrick’s back and another on his shoulder, like they’re dancing.

He draws back and Patrick still wants more, chases Pete’s mouth without thinking about it. Pete doesn’t let him, though, rests his forehead against Patrick’s instead until Patrick’s brain resumes operation. He feels himself starting to blush again, the heat of _wanting_ chased away by sheer embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Patrick says, kinda pissed at himself. He doesn’t even know what for.

“Hey, no,” Pete whispers in his ear. “It’s okay, I got you.” He repositions them into a solid hug. Pete gives good hugs. Patrick lets out a long, gusty breath, lets his head rest on Pete’s shoulder.

“Was that okay?” Pete says after a little while, once Patrick’s heartbeat has slowed down back to its usual rhythm.

“It was good,” Patrick says. He’s surprised to find out that he means exactly what he says. He’d have thought it would be something more, or less - but no. Good is exactly the right word.

“I’m glad,” Pete says.

The sincerity in his voice shakes Patrick up. “Why did you do it?”

Pete’s quiet for a long moment. Patrick knows this brand of silence. It means Pete’s got three dozen answers, all honest and all different, and he’s looking for the one that’ll give him the best result. “Your first kiss is important,” Pete says. “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

Maybe Patrick should be pissed off about it, and he is, a little. At the same time, he trusts Pete’s priorities. Pete’s an asshole but he’s smart and a lot better at thinking long-term than people give him credit for.

Besides, it was a pretty good kiss. “Hang on to it,” Patrick says. He feels dumb about it the following moment, like it’s okay for Pete to talk about kisses like they’re tangible objects but not for Patrick.

Pete’s answering, blazing smile makes it a little better. “I will,” Pete says, a promise full of bright, shiny teeth.

They walk back into the party. Pete pushes Patrick at this girl - Brenda, the one who can’t drive; Pete offers her a ride home on Patrick’s behest without consulting Patrick. It’s cool, though. She’s nice.

Getting into the driver’s seat, Patrick feels something poking him through his pants pocket. He feels inside, finds something small and hard that he did not put there. On examination, it turns out to be a little china thimble with a picture of Elvis and _Souvenir from Graceland_ written around the edge. At least, Patrick thinks that’s what it said before someone crossed out _Grace_ and replaced it with _Never_.

_Someone_ , Patrick thinks, darkly. It’s not like there are a lot of options. He checks his phone and yeah, there it is, a text from twenty minutes ago: _a token, for when u want it back_.

“Is everything okay?” Brenda says from the passenger side.

Patrick shakes his head and smiles. “It’s fine. Where did you say you lived, again?”

He doesn’t kiss her when he drops her off, though he’s pretty sure she’d like him to. He’s not pining for Pete, either; that would be dumb and Patrick’s young but he’s sensible, everyone says so. It just feels nicer that way, to be able to go to bed with the taste of his first kiss still on his lips, savoring it. Idly rolling the thimble in his fingers and thinking about redeeming the token.


End file.
